If this post begins to ramble and make no sense, it’s because I am recovering from a concussion. I won’t go into the embarrassing details of what happened. However, I will say it had something to do with my annual girl’s weekend, a hammock, and some vodka.

Although this incident was not really my fault, you will never hear me say that I am, in any way, graceful. As a kid, I was famous for spilling, dropping, breaking, tripping and falling…and not much has changed. I am a klutz. I am a gargantuan doofus. I am a clumsy, butter-fingered, fumbling oaf.

It’s partly because I’m quite tall and have feet so big that I envision getting a call from the circus telling me the clowns want their shoes back. I also have limbs so long that a teacher once dubbed me orangutan arms, and my brain is pulled in so many directions at once that sometimes I just can’t concentrate. Put these together, and you have the perfect storm.

So, it shouldn’t have been any surprise that I single-handedly put a halt to this weekend’s festivities. In a matter of hours we went from having a party, to something resembling a knitting group. No lie. As we debated whether or not I needed to go to the hospital, we slowly went from drinking beer to making pot holders, from happy to glum, from laughter to yawns. All while I held a bag of ice to a knot on my head, which was so big my friends could’ve cut it out and played volleyball with it.

I didn’t know it when I named this blog, but Urban Dictionary lists synonyms of “Momo” as dolt, blockhead, and numskull. How fitting is that? I unknowingly created a blog name which refers to my true nature. Coincidence? I think not.

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